


Everything Stays, But It Still Changes

by knaveofmogadore



Category: The Lorien Legacies - Pittacus Lore
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Multi, Recovery, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-02 18:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knaveofmogadore/pseuds/knaveofmogadore
Summary: [Beware RTZ Spoilers]They finally got their lives back. Well, sort of. Their work as defenders will never be done. There will always be more garde to teach, more lives to rebuild, and more healing to do. Not all scars can be kissed away, and not all problems can be solved with fists and fire.





	1. Two Weeks to The Day Post Alaska

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliensaregay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensaregay/gifts).

> This has been sitting in my wip folder for so long that I actually began to feel guilty about it. Sorry, Carmina <3

The first thing Nine notices when he walks into his cottage is that his new living room is destroyed. When he and John moved in, Nine had picked out a nice table at a market down the mountain. That table was now pushed against the wall and covered in maps. They had actually done an ok job at keeping the floor clean, which was now covered in papers and file folders. They had pillows instead of a couch in the style of the village locals that were now stacked out of the way. These were the closest things to neat in the entire scene. He also bought a nice floor rug because the cottage got freezing, which a Mogadorian has pulled far out of place and is now sitting on. 

"Adamus, what the hell are you doing?" 

“Damage control.” 

Nine picks up a paper covered in statistics he doesn't understand, “How the hell did you even get all of this?” 

“Sam flirted with a fax machine to get peacekeeper records from Alaska.”

In an average person's life, that sentence would be nonsensical at best. It's good for Nine that very little of his life has ever made sense to the average person. He waves his new metal hand in Adam's direction to get his attention away from the stack of pictures in his hands. 

He rolls his shoulder to draw attention to his needs, “Do you mind taking this off for me?” 

Adam seems to bluescreen, then reboot to adjust to Nine's presence. He clears a space beside him in the chaos. 

“Of course,” he says, and gestures to the newly visible floorspace. 

Nine tries his best to step between the papers on his way to Adam's side and sits with his left arm facing him. Gently and slowly, Adam releases his prosthetic from its mount on what's left of his flesh and bone bicep. He mumbles in Mogadorian while he rubs down the aching muscles of Nine's residual limb.

Nine stacks papers while Adam massages the ache out of his shoulder. He reads some pages, skims most, and ignores others completely as he places them to the side. Adam's hands knead his stub and shoulder until something _clicks_. Adam twitches at the sound but otherwise doesn't react, only runs his hands over Nine's shoulder one more time. Nine sighs as his eyes slide closed, only to frown and open them a moment later when Adam pulls away.__

_ _"Better?" _ _

_ _Nine rolls what's left of the limb until it pops again. _ _

_ _"Yeah," he grunts, "mind telling me why our living room looks like a serial killer's manifesto?" _ _

_ _Adam takes the haphazard stack away from Nine and spreads the papers back out in front of him. Nine takes a moment as he's being ignored to really study Adam. However bad the room looks, as much as it feels like an invading army just marched through it, and as close as it looks to a movie drama murder scene, Adamus Sutekh looked worse. Nine hadn't noticed in the days before, but Adam's black hair had thinned in Alaska. His pale skin was grey, his dark eyes tired, his body thirty pounds lighter. There is an unfading bruise as purple as the mountain flowers outside peeking out from underneath his borrowed shirt. John's shirt might as well be a sheet. Also in his eyes? STRESS. _ _

_ _Nine opens his mouth and maybe even makes a sound before the dam breaks in Adam's mind. _ _

_ _"I have 262 people and no idea where to put them." _ _

_ _"Ah-" _ _

_ _"There are seventeen mogadorian garde and counting and convincing them to be trained here hinges on human garde being comfortable with them, which we know many of them are not-" _ _

_ _"We can-" _ _

_ _"We can't host an entire race of people here, growth may be slow but overcrowding is an issue coming up fast, and my people will never stand for relying on someone else's hospitality." _ _

_ _"Hey now-" _ _

_ _"I want to get these solar network designs to Lexa as soon as possible so that we can make room for the new garde and limit the chaos blackouts are going to cause-" _ _

_ _"That's kind of Johnny's problem right now isn't-" _ _

_ _"-and there are new mogadorian garde every day. Many are still in hiding because they were afraid of being guinea pigs as I was-" _ _

_ _"Wait you were _what_-" ___ _

_ _ _ _"-and others are manifesting their legacies only now, some of them in destructive ways, and Eleni still needs to be quarantined because she's _absolutely_ a threat to others-" ___ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"ADAMUS. STOP." _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Adam flinches away from him. Nine's stomach immediately drops to his feet and he swears at himself in his head. During the war Adam had never flinched, never cowered, hadn't even let them fuss over him being in chains. Even just two weeks ago he had been standing tall and giving orders during a raid that would have scared witless most of Nine's strongest students. Outside of this house Adam has insisted that he's strong, has kept his back straight and head high. In here, he is too exhausted to hold his guard up. In these moments Nine has to remember to be gentle._ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _He reaches out to hold Adam's face and stops partway, waiting for him to bridge the gap. 'Give him space,' John says, 'You saw that place,' John says. When Adam leans forward Nine pulls him closer by a tender hand on the back of his neck. Adam frowns at the crinkle of paper below them but Nine ignores it to press his forehead to Adam's. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"Look at me," He whispers. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Adam closes his eyes instead. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"You're too close, all I can see is your nose," he says. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"You think too much." _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"And you haven't had a single thought in your life that didn't end in you hitting something.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Nine pulls back just enough for their noses to brush, but not far enough that Adam opens his eyes. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"See, I am mad that you said that, but I also know that you're only trying to lash out and get me angry so that I'll leave you alone, and I refuse to let you win." _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"Typical," Adam deadpans._ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Nine smiles, “That's the most you that you've sounded like in days.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Adam pulls away, leaving cold air in Nine's face and empty space in his arm. He begins to sort through the papers again, and his stacks are much more methodical than Nine's. Nine picks one up, feigned interest quickly becoming real. He shakes the paper at Adam. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Hey, is this one of the Mogadorian garde?” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Adam glaces at it as he takes the paper away, “Yes, this is Micah. Do you mind getting his picture for me off of that cushion over there?” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Nine groans loudly and pretends to complain to an unimpressed Adam. Stepping around the minefield of paperwork on their floor is an obstacle course all on its own. He points to a picture and Adam nods, so he picks up a mugshot._ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Nine’s skill at gauging Mogadorian ages isn't strong, but Micah couldn't be older than healer Taylor Cook. His hair was cropped close in the back and long in the front. He was old enough to have earned the base of a tattoo that twisted away from his temple and down his cheek. A normal Mogadorian until the eyes. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _The eyes of most Mogadorians are unsettling to most humans. At first glance Adam's eyes are coal black, but human. At second they begin to look off. The pupils are longer and more catlike than humans, the sclera a little greyer, the iris reflective. Things you notice more if you take the time to stare. Micah's eyes were duller, his sclera a noticeable dark grey. Nine passes off the photo before gingerly settling back into his special cleared space in the chaos. Adam passes along the completed folder and points to where the pile begins, on top of a file printed with Vontezza’s name. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Nine idly flips through it and asks, “What's up with his eyes?” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Adam glaces up from the new folder in his lap and frowns at Nine for impeding his progress. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Micah's blind, it happened during the invasion. He uses his telekinesis to find his way around so it is incredibly precise.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“What's his main legacy?” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Adam dumps the next folder in Nine's lap, forcing him to move on. “No fucking clue.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _The next garde is taller, with a full chop and long hair braided back from his face. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Karthis, deconstruction of inanimate objects, theoretically reconstruction but attempts have been...destructive.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“So he's good looking _and he can destroy shit? That's awesome! But how are you going to train him?”__ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Adam's lips twitch, “I was hoping you could train them alongside your other students.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Suddenly the folder in Nine's hands feels heavy. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _“You're not going to train them yourself?” _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _“I think,” Adam says, his words weighted and rehearsed, “that it would be better for them, all of the Mogadorian garde, at least for now, for someone else to teach them. They deserve a better teacher than I could be.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine finds himself blinking back tears. The frowning mugshot of Karthis stares up at him and seems to judge him for the way his hands are shaking. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _“Adam, that's-” _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _John chooses this moment to come through the door. He is practically glowing and brings the fresh mountain breeze inside with him. His hair was tousled by flight, his freshly shaven face red from the cold. He shoulders the door closed against the wind and turns to his boys on the floor with a smile. The mess does not seem to faze him, which let Nine know that John probably helped to make it. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine is still holding the folder in his hands. John sees it and his smile softens. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _“He told you the news, huh,” he asks softly. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine closes the folder to hide the young Mogadorian’s face. This is an offer Nine has gotten before in the form of Vontezza, a teenage Mogadorian warlord who can regenerate herself. He tried to reject it then. He was angry at John and Adam for abandoning what they had been trying to build. He was terrified for what she would mean for the future and his own beliefs. But Adam was there to his right, looking more hopeful than Nine had ever seen him. John was floating above the floor in front of him with his legs folded and his chin in his hands. They were both waiting for his answer, waiting for him to put one more foot forward into building something new here on the mountain. _With_ them this time instead of alone._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _He clears his throat, “I'll need some help training all of these kids.” He looks from John to Adam to see that he's smiling, _really_ smiling for the first time since he arrived. “Bringing in more human professors is all well and good, but I think they'd do better in the legacy department if they had someone that's more like them helping out. We could really use a combat teacher.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine talked over Adam before he could start objecting, “When you're stronger, obviously, and all of this,” Nine gestures at the paper apocalypse, “has chilled out. Ok?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Adam seems to think it over. John seems to be thinking too, but when Nine looks closer at his face he can't see the thoughts like he used to. It is impossible to tell if they are both thinking about Nine's offer or if John is simply studying the situation. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _“I,” Adam coughs, drawing both of their attentions, “I can consider it.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine whooped and held out his hand for a high five from John. The motion left his lap open for Adam to drop a new folder into it._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _“Since you will be teaching them, you should learn their names and faces,” he says, already working on a new folder._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Instead of the precarious ballet Nine had to do, John floats around the sea of paperwork. He tangles their fingers together instead of high fiving him._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _“Show off,” Nine mutters fondly. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Adam drops another folder into his lap on top of the one Nine was holding, “Vrai, weak telekinesis-” _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _“Hey slow down, I haven't even looked at the last one yet!” _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _John floated down to Nine's level to press a greeting to his forehead. At the same time he takes the files away and drops them onto the growing stack. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _“You can look at them later,” he says, brushing stray hairs away from Nine’s face, “you both need a break.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _~~~_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine shifts into the hazy half sleep where real life feels like a fever dream. He reaches across the bed and finds nothing. His eyes open wide and he sits up, completely alert. There are no boyfriends in the bed. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine tries to think rationally about this. John leaves early most mornings to get a start on the day. What John considers early of course Nine considers the last hours of the night, but Nine had gotten used to the feeling of waking up in an empty house long ago. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _He feels relieved when he hears voices coming from their living room. The stone floor of their house is cruel and cold against his feet. He crosses his arms over his bare chest. It's now that Nine realizes that it feels like the last hours of the night because it _is_ the last hours of the night. His toe slams into the doorframe in the darkness and he can't hold back a curse. He thanks John for making this hallway so short, even though he would rather die than tell him that. ___ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The only light in the living room is dimly leaking in from the kitchen. Nine notes that his living room had been put back together at some point. John and Adam are sitting against the pile of cushions that makes their couch, in front of their low table. They're pressed together so close it is difficult for Nine to see where John ends and Adam begins. Between them is an open file and a stack of closed ones. Tea has been set out, two full mugs and one empty one set facedown on the tray. The scene makes Nine feels warm in his chest. He leans against the end of the wall for a moment and takes it in before they notice him. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _John sips from his mug while Adam explains the contents of the file in a low voice. His hair is still mussed from sleep and falling into his face. Adam's is escaping from its ponytail and John keeps brushing it away as he listens. Both of them are pale, well, paler than usual. John seems feverish and Nine can see his hands shaking. He notices that Adam's missing hand is behind John, probably rubbing circles into his back. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _They both look up as Nine walks into the light. Adam turns away first. The empty mug turns over and the teapot fills it on its own. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _John raises his own mug in greeting, “Good morning Nine,” as he rounds the table and kneels beside him. Nine curls his hand around the back of John's neck and pulls him close until their foreheads touch. He can feel the cold sweat still on John's skin. The skin at the nape of his neck burns against his fingers. His knee is pressed to John's and he can feel his leg trembling where his sweats meet bare skin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You had a nightmare,” Nine says, pulling back enough to see into his eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _John nods and drops his gaze to his lap. He reaches and places his hand on Nine's thigh. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Why didn't you wake me up?” _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Adam's hand comes to a rest on top of Nine's. It's freezing to the touch and also trembling. He leans around John to get a better look at his other boyfriend. There are dark circles under his eyes carved deep into Adam's face. He looks worn thin and exhausted and sick to his stomach._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You had a nightmare too.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Adam smiles, but it looks too painful and forced to be a comfort. Nine is getting too used to the forced emotions on his face these past few weeks. An ache claws into his chest every time he is confronted with the thin wire Adam is walking these days._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“That implies I slept,” he says, like the smile looks at all natural. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Why didn't you two wake me up,” Nine demands._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Adam shrugs, “You were having such good sleep, we didn't want to ruin it.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine opens his mouth to let him have his thoughts on how stupid that sounds, but John squeezes his thigh in a silent plea. He files it away for a better time right on top of his own meticulous mental stack. He turns to the table and shifts to let John rest his head in the crook of his shoulder. The mug of tea moves across the table to him. Nine toasts Adam with it and takes a sip of something herbal, almost fruity. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“So what have you two been doing?” _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _John's breath is warm against the skin of Nine's neck. The feeling of John's lips moving as he talks sends shivers down his spine. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“I asked Adam to talk words to me until I got tired. I don't really understand what he's talking about.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine looked to Adam for a better explanation, then glanced down at the papers spread across their table. Two of them are blueprints for something that only looks a little familiar. It is a device connected to several large flat panels, with a claw base. Another paper is nothing but math Nine can't read. The last one is a map of New Lorien, specifically of her mountain’s peak, marked with lines and dots. Nine takes another sip of his tea. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“So what is all of this for, Adababe?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _John laughs at the new nickname, raising goosebumps along Nine's exposed skin. Adam's lips only twitch but it feels like a victory. He starts explaining it again from the beginning. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“So, Lexa and I were discussing the possibility of installing solar panels in a place that would get uninterrupted sun, and so far New Lorien only has one place like that,” he says. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Adam's fingers trace paths across the map as he speaks. Every so often he will gesture at something on the blueprints and Nine will get distracted by the carefully drawn lines. Why are they called blueprints, he wonders, of the paper is white. Adam's fingers are long and graceful. They seem to dance through the air as he explains the engineering with words Nine doesn't understand. The accent that had put him on edge when they first met is soothing now as Nine allows Adam's voice to wash over him. He stretches his Ls and pierces his Vs. Nine thinks it’s cute and he will never tell him that. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Nine is jostled out of his half asleep state by Adam taking John's hand and mumbling something. John nods and shifts to get up. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“I think it's time to go back to bed,” Adam says, “before you both fall asleep on the floor.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The walk back to their bedroom is far more difficult than the walk out, on account of them all being exhausted. They eventually stumbled into bed. John lays down on the far left end of the bed and then promptly stops moving. He is completely asleep by the time Adam crawls over the other side of the bed to slip into his arms. The last thing John did before sleep was tightening his grip on Adam. Nine took a moment to sit on the edge of the bed and just watch them one more time. John as a big spoon to Adam looks more like playing jetpack. His socked feet only reached mid calf, and Nine's sweatpants stopped above Adam's ankles. John's face is buried in Adam's coarse black curls and Nine knows he is going to wake up with a mouthful of hair tomorrow. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Adam is staring back at Nine through slitted eyes. In the dark of their bedroom his eyes glitter like stars. Nine is transfixed, watching Adam's pupils, barely breathing. Then Adam breaks the spell by shivering and reaching for him and Nine realizes what he wants. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He pulls the sheets out from underneath John, who never stirs once, and pulls them over his boys and himself as he lays back down. Adam curls his cold fingers against Nine's chest and he shivers again. In response Nine tucks his cold feet between Adam's legs and wraps his arm around him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Fifteen Days Post Alaska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some new revelations about Adam's time in Alaska surface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic ends happy but as per usual I was downright DICKISH to my dear dear boy

Nine awakes to the bed shifting as Adam sits up. It takes a moment for him to understand what he's saying, and he turns to the sound. Adam is tugging on the hem of his borrowed shirt and staring down at their boyfriend.

“John, can you do something for me?” 

John's voice is muffled by his arm and the pillow. Nine's chest warms as he watches John reach out and rest a hand on Adam's knee. Adam doesn't flinch this time. 

“Anything,” he mumbles, “Always.” 

“Don't, not,” Adam takes a deep breath, “I'm sorry.” 

“What do you need?” 

Adam leans over to pull John's borrowed shirt off, pulling his hair free of its tie. 

The first thing Nine sees is purple, then red. He barely notices John sitting up. The bruise that was just an edge at Adam's neck yesterday stretches down his side. Scars Nine had never seen, some of them fresh and red and raw, cross down his back, his chest, his arms. Many of them look like ones Nine could find on his own skin. A pair on his stomach look grossly like something Phiri must have given him. Others are too straight, too thin, too methodical to be anything but on purpose. Nine's fingers, trembling with barely contained rage, touch a line down his spine. He hadn't even realized he was doing it. Adam sucks in a hitched breath but doesn’t move away. 

John is tracing over every bruise, cut, welt, and scar. Categorizing and memorizing them with his eyes. He doesn't seem to be as angry as Nine felt, but he is harder to read these days. Nine is still relearning how to hear the thoughts inside of John's head.

“Where do you want me to start,” John asks, and there Nine finally hears the rage he feels in John's voice. 

So much of John has changed in the last three years, but his anger has stayed the same. It is quiet and slow. Eerie calm hides the power to destroy everything in his wake, to destroy every single person who dared to do this to someone they love. 

Nine's hand comes to rest on Adam's hip as he moves. Adam’s slender arms reach up with the hair tie and pull his hair up and out of the way. He ties it in a bob on top of his head. When his hands pull away Nine sees what he has been hiding behind his shoulder length hair. From the nape of his neck to its base his skin is marred by a dozen or more inch long horizontal lines. Some of the scars are more jagged than others, some inhibitors failed harder than others, Adam explains. John runs his thumb over Adam's neck and Nine can feel more than see Adam spasm at the touch. His chest tightens and his eyes burn at the strangled sound that slips out of Adam's throat. Adam guides John's fingers to the cleanest looking scar with a shaking hand. 

“This one,” he whispers, “I need you to take it out.” 

“Does it hurt,” Nine asks. 

“Yes.” 

After asking for permission John runs hands over the back of Adam’s neck. He feels out the situation with his thumbs, his hands glowing with the faint light of his healing legacy. Nine’s hand leaves Adam’s hip to take his hand in his own. Adam’s grip soon grows tight enough to cut circulation off from Nine’s fingers. His breathing is shallow and his eyes screwed shut tight. After two minutes John finally stops. 

Nine might be a little rusty in John Speak, but he can read the expression on his face from over Adam’s shoulder. There is a pinch in his face and worry in his eyes. Something is wrong beyond what John can fix on his own, and he doesn’t know how to say it. Adam picks up on the silence soon enough but John finds his courage before he can finish his sentence. 

“I’m not comfortable cutting this out myself, the chip is right against your spine. You should ask Malcolm to do it,” John made another pass over Adam’s neck with his lit palm, “I'm sorry.” 

Adam takes a deep breath and releases it. The shake in his voice breaks a piece of both their hearts, “It's ok.” 

“Is there a way that I can help,” John asks. 

Adam moves John's hand to the bruise on his shoulder. John rubs a circle into Adam's skin with his thumb and a part of it disappears. Soon his faintly lit hands are sliding over Adam's skin, bruises and cuts fading away under his careful touch. He traces down a hastily stitched gash until his fingers brush the waistband of Adam's sweatpants. His hand is stilled by a trembling, weak grip on his wrist. 

“I don't want you to see that. Not today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think about it, from what we know of the mogs in reborn they have jack squat as far as rights go. We don't really know what's going on besides the brief scenes we get from Vontezza (go forth young queen) so maybe this IS canon, whomst knows. Not Frey until he spends a while reading all of our wattpad fanfictions.


	3. Sixteen Days Post Alaska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, now _this_ is a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Malcolm,,,second best dad in ya fiction,,,not I will NOT take criticism the rankings are 
> 
> 1) Mortimer/bluejay from inkheart   
2) Malcolm Goode  
3) Arthur Weasley  
4) Paul Blofish
> 
> and that's that on THAT

Malcolm had seen him at his worst, had trained him and cared for him and, when he broke, put him back together. It was on Malcolm's couch that Adam had hidden away from the world on, and it was him and Patricia who had sheltered him when he couldn't face the others. Somehow Adam still doubts that Malcolm is prepared for what he is about to ask. John must think that resting his hand on the small of Adam's back is comforting, or he wouldn't be doing it. All it accomplishes is putting Adam further on edge. The gentle push into the infirmary must be encouragement, but it feels more like being coached. 

Adam hates the smell of hospitals. The fact that this room is basically a nap room changes nothing. The fact that Malcolm is talking with some dark skinned teenager with purple hair about prosthetics changes nothing. Even if he's wearing slacks and a red version of something Sam affectionately calls his ‘dad sweaters’. The infirmary is a glorified nap room with a bored healer interning and Malcolm doing counseling rounds with his students. The floor and ceiling look like the inside of the cave because it is. This room is tucked into the first main cave some dead loric carved out a thousand years ago. It smells like leather restraints and scalpels. 

He is snapped out of it by Malcolm walking up to him. The clipboard in his hands is filled with order forms for who knows what. Malcolm knows what, obviously. _Breathe_. He can sense John standing behind him somewhere in the room, radiating anxious energy. Maybe that's just him. 

“Adam, are you in there?” 

He blinks, startled again back to reality. He tries to smile for a second and then drops it. There is no need to pretend for his father anymore, since his dad has spent so many sleepless nights with him by now. Adam pulls Malcolm to the side by his elbow. 

“I need you to do something for me.” 

“Did you really need to make such a big deal about asking?” 

Adam blanks, “I. Um.” He avoids Malcolm's pinched and worried gaze, “Probably not.” He ties his hair up into a messy bun and turns away from Malcolm before he loses his nerve, touching the specific scar as he speaks. His hands are shaking, “I need you to take this one out.” 

Adam is met with terrifying silence. He can see John moving in out of the corner of his eye. He knows, logically, that Malcolm has never, would never, and will never judge him for his injuries. That he will never begrudge him his weaknesses. The longer the silence draws on, however, the more tense he gets. 

Finally Adam feels himself being guided onto the edge of the nearest bed by his shoulders. He allows it to happen. The smell of this room screams danger, but the sound of Malcolm listing things he needs to get is soothing. Adam lets go now because he knows that Malcolm will never hurt him on purpose. When he returns, however, Adam can still feel his anger. 

“Are you ok,” he asks quietly, forcing himself to sound calm.

Whatever Adam is expecting, it's not what Malcolm says. 

“You were all just kids, it should never have been your responsibility to fix the adults mistakes. Sometimes it just hits me out of nowhere what all of that really means. When I see you hurt like this is breaks me, you know?” 

“I know.” 

The cold sting of an alcohol pad startles Adam. 

“And do you also know that I think of you as my son? Why didn't you tell me it had gotten so bad over there?” 

Tears prick at the edges of Adam's eyes, “What would you have done? Storm the gates with a one man army? Swing your briefcase around until you were shot?” 

“You know I would have. You're going to start feeling some numbness.” 

All Adam feels is a pinch. 

“You never wanted me to go in the first place.” 

“Damn right I didn't!” 

“I think that’s enough antiseptic Malcolm.”

Malcolm steadies himself with a deep breath. Adam steels himself by gripping the arms of the infirmary chair. With one gloved hand Malcolm feels around for the exact spot he needs to cut, and with the other he slides the scalpel into Adam’s skin. The reaction is an immediate gasp. Then come the tweezers. Distantly Adam feels them slide in, and then he feels Malcolm hesitate. Then he feels the burning, full bodied pain, and whatever sound he makes causes Malcolm to withdrawal completely. 

“_What are you doing?_” 

“I don’t want to hurt you, this has healed in an awkward position and may have fused to some of your nerves.” 

“**JUST TAKE IT OUT!**” 

For a moment, his entire existence is an all consuming blackness and sharp ringing noise. The next moment it is over and he feels John beside him, hears Malcolm panicking at his side. The back of his neck is warm and sticky and his mouth tastes like rusted iron. The warmth of John fades away and is replaced by a cool cloth wiping him down. He can hear Malcolm worrying. 

“Are you sure there is no permanent damage?”

“He’s fine, just a little disoriented. You ripped it out pretty fast.”

“I panicked!” 

Adam feels a twinge of guilt for the shake in Malcolm’s voice. This entire situation is his fault, he thinks. If he had only been stronger, or tried harder to get his letters through. But what would that have done, really? He has learned that when a human fixates, its mind is usually made up for good. Someone in Alaska had just happened to fixate on him. Fingers snapping in front of his face bring him out of his reverie. 

John’s voice is soft and his hands gentle when he reaches out to hold Adam’s face, “Mind tilting your head to the left for me?” 

Adam does, “And the right,” and then he can’t. 

His neck and head warms from John’s healing, but Adam thinks it feels too much like blushing for comfort. To the right his head tilts. 

“And the back? Forward. Good!” 

He can’t stop himself from spitting up a little bit onto the ground in front of him. He can hear Nine laughing in the background and blocks it out in favour of John’s hands on his skin. A press of lips to his forehead and Adam is out like a light. 

~~

John left Nine to watch over their boyfriend while he handled a meeting with some ambassador Nine hates. This was the first in a series of mistakes. 

Nine opens the curtains the give John's plants some light. He turns the little succulent pots on his shelf to occupy himself and moves the draping vine to hang over their dresser just because. He even picks up their discarded clothes off of the floor. Of course he proceeds to dump the entire pile in his arms into one hamper without sorting out whose clothes belonged to who, so he really didn't do that much. Nine finishes his half assed cleaning spree by closing one of the drawers on the other dresser and kicking their area rug back into place. 

Through all of this the form lying prone on top of their tangled blue sheets never stirs. Adam had managed to shrug off his jacket and John had taken off his boots, but otherwise he is starfished in the same clothes he had been wearing all day, his hair still tied back from his face. Nine sits on the edge of the bed and grasps Adam's calf in his metal hand. Gently, he shakes his boyfriend's leg.

“Hey babe,” he says quietly, “you awake yet?” 

Adam grunts and pulls his legs away from Nine and to the opposite side of the bed. 

Nine grins. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like shit.” 

Nine leans over and wraps his hand around Adam's calf again. He tries to rub some of the soreness out of the muscles but Adam kicks him away. 

Nine sits back with a laugh. “Do you want me to leave you alone so you can rest?”

Adam groans, “I'm tired of resting.” 

Nine laughs again, this time to himself. He reaches forward again and tickles his fingers against the bottom of his foot. Adam yelps and tries to pull his legs up into fetal position, but by now Nine already has a grip on his ankle. He pulls his wriggling boyfriend across the bed towards him and straddles his thighs. His fingers wiggle against Adam's sides, prompting a fresh round of shrieking and shoving and giggling. Adam manages to catch Nine's face in his hand and shoves it as far away as he can. Nine is hovering over him on his hand and knees, so this is not as far as he would like. Nine laughs around Adam's fingers. 

He stops his assault finally and flattens his right hand over Adam's waist. The motion feels like a warning more than a truce, and teases fresh and involuntary giggles. Adam shoves harder at Nine's face until he sits back on his heels between his boyfriend's legs and slides his hands down to Adam's hips. 

Adam looks wrecked and flushed. His hair is escaping its tie and is beginning to clump into knots. The shirt Malcolm gave him is twisted around him, showing his midriff, and his pants have fallen a couple inches. Their struggle has pushed his head and shoulders off of the bed. Glittering black, catlike eyes glare up at Nine, promising future retribution for the indignity of being tickled into submission.

“So,” Nine drawls, “how are you feeling?” 

Adam's eye twitches. Seconds tick on into tense silence until Nine is sure that he is either trying to ice him out or plotting his vengeance. Nine waits him out, meeting his glare with his own cheeky grin, until he finally sighs and breaks. 

“My mouth tastes like vomit and I'm bored out of my mind,” he admits. 

Nine snorts, “Gross. Wanna move this to the couch?” 

Something shifts in Adam's eyes, as if an idea is forming in there. Nine suddenly feels a twinge of fear. Affectionate fear, but the terror is there. All that happens at first is that Adam tells him to get the fuck off. He ends up helping his boyfriend get off the edge of the bed anyway. Adam cards his fingers through his hair and reties it, adjusts his shirt, and pulls his jeans back into place. He kneels on the bed next to Nine and places his hand on his thigh and suddenly Nine understands. 

“I think a kiss might help me feel better,” he says with a smirk.

He starts shifting back from Adam, but for once he is not fast enough. Adam twists his hand in the fabric of Nine's tank top and pulls him in close. His other hand tangles itself in his hair and tilts his head into an open mouthed kiss. Nine bites Adam's lips and pushes him back onto the bed. 

He gags to the sound of Adam's giggling, can feel the twist in his own face. 

“How does vengeance taste!” 

“It tastes like fuck you,” Nine spits, “go brush your teeth!” 

He follows his boyfriend to the bathroom to wash out his own mouth.

Nine is sitting on their bathroom counter kicking his legs, satisfied that he has gargled and swished enough to get the residue out of his mouth, before he strikes up another conversation. Adam is scrubbing his tongue with his toothbrush and ignores Nine completely. Or maybe he just didn't hear him over the sound of destroying the toothbrush with his mouth full of razor teeth. Nine flicks his shoulder and is rewarded with the image of Adam with a toothbrush sticking out of his foamy lips. 

Nine snorts, “You look like you have rabies.” 

Adam frowns and goes back to washing out his mouth. 

“Ok, ok, I'm sorry that was mean. You look very cute when your face is smeared with soap.” 

Adam rinses his toothbrush then uses it to flick water at Nine. He puts his arms up and doesn't bother using his telekinesis to defend himself. His boyfriend quickly gets bored and fills his cup from the sink. 

“Since you're bored, what do you wanna do?” 

Adam rests a hand on his hip and leans back on his heels. He seems to think as he swishes his mouth clean. 

He spits, “That TV in the front room, does it work?” 

Nine shakes his head, “We haven't gotten around to setting up the Wi-Fi yet.” 

“Do you know how?” 

Nine looks away sheepishly and shrugs with a quiet laugh. That answers that, then. One more gargle and swish and then he empties his cup out and leaves the bathroom. 

“Where's your router?” 

~~

This is how John finds his boys when he returns home from his meeting. Nine is holding the TV at an angle to the wall, exposing its backside. Adam is kneeling on the floor with his eyes closed and hand pressed to the wall. Wires are telekinetically drawn out of the wall as John watches, and Adam attaches them to the back of the TV. Below their TV is a new wooden shelf John has never seen before, and on that shelf is their newly installed Wi-Fi router blinking away. 

John's eyes narrow, “Malcolm said you were supposed to be resting.” 

Here is a difference between Adam and Nine. Nine twitches when John speaks, because he hadn't noticed him come in. Adam blinks at John before going back to what he is doing with the TV. Something with a screwdriver and a bronze metal piece that they both understand better than he does. 

“I'm tired of resting,” Adam says, “if I spend another minute in that bed I will have to marry it.” 

“Malcolm wanted you to sleep.” John gets the piece of mind to close the door and leaned against it. “I don't know if you noticed, but you looked like death warmed over.” 

“Yeah? Well I want Netflix and Wi-Fi, so I suppose we're at an impasse,” Adam steps back and motions for Nine to put the TV back, “and I'm winning.” 

With his hands on his hips and his head tilted that way, he really is beginning to look like his old self. John can't bring himself the wipe the shit eating grin off of Adam's face after so many days of seeing him at the brink of collapse. So he turns to Nine. 

“And you're endorsing this decision?” 

Nine turns to John so that he can see him roll his eyes. “That makes it sound like you're drafting a treaty or something.” 

John raises an eyebrow and stares him down until he starts to squirm. Nine might still be having trouble adjusting back to John Speak, but John never stopped being fluent in Nine. It only takes thirty seconds for him to break and throw his hands up. 

“Yeah man I missed Netflix and Twitter, so sue me!”

John's face scrunches in confusion. He knows one of those words well, but the other is a mystery to him. 

“What's Twitter?” 

The sound that escapes from Adam is a cross between a shrill laugh and a whine. He twitches like a dying animal against the wall. Nine looks like John just slapped him with a rubber chicken. For once he is totally silent, dumbfounded into submission. Neither of them give him an explanation. 

Waving his hand in front of Nine at least gives him a response. He catches John's hand and traps it between both of his own. Nine even bows his head to kiss his knuckles. “Sometimes I forget that you lived alone like a monk up here for the last three years.” 

John is not amused, but he is slightly pink. Something in his chest flutters to life when Nine presses a sweet kiss to his temple in apology. It takes some willpower to pull his hand away and round on Adam. He scrambles back on his hands and feet as John walks towards him. Despite his protests he must still be tired, because he can't put up enough of a fight to stop John from picking him up and slinging him over his shoulder. The screwdriver clatters to the floor somewhere. Nine laughs because Adam's feet can almost touch the floor even as he struggles to brace his elbows on John's back.

The time and a conversation from this morning dawn on John. He looks over his shoulder at Nine, “Don't you have class right about now?” 

Adam's hopes at rescue are quashed when he sees the ‘oh shit’ in Nine's eyes. At the very least Nine has the decency to tilt up his chin and give him a proper kiss before booking it out of their house. John calls after him to _at least grab a jacket, stupid,_ but the door slams on the end of his sentence. 

Adam pinches him through his shirt. There is a scar there, he knows that. John knows he knows that because he remembers the feeling of Adam touching it with cautious fingers as they sat huddled in the same hospital bed. The sting of cold hands against his spent and fried skin, the ghost of their trembling bodies passes through him. A blink and the memory of antiseptic and fluorescents fades, and he has to prompt Adam to repeat himself.

“I asked if you were going to put me down at some point.” 

“Ah,” John grins, “hold on.” 

He can feel Adam tense and brace himself against his back. Good, John thinks, he should. John turns on his heels and floats lightly over their low table, too lazy to walk around it. With a grunt he drops Adam onto their cushions without warning. Once again Adam looks rumpled, his shirt out of place and his hair holding onto the tie through force of will and knots. Glaring is a good look for him, John thinks, it feels like he's recovering. He hits John with a cushion when he tries to sit down. 

“I'm done with being manhandled today! No,” he hits him again, “fuck you.” 

“Ok!” John puts his arms up to defend his face from the telekinetically flung cushion. Despite the seriousness of Adam's anger he laughs softly. “-I’m sorry, I won't do it again. Promise!” 

John drops his arms below his chin to peek at his reaction. Adam is already holding another cushion, and he throws this one too. Caught off guard, this one actually catches him in the face and knocks him back a step. 

“Apology accepted.” 

The cushions lift seemingly of their own accord and settle back into place. He chuckles again and drops down next to Adam. This destabilizes him again and he grumbles about things like ‘stupid' and ‘thick' and ‘pretty' and ‘garde' as he pushes himself into a sitting position. All of these are things John already knows, of course, but he likes hearing Adam say them. He feels as if they have years of him saying those things to catch up on. These are the first moments they have alone since Adam got here and John wants to drink them in. Adam is still wearing the clothes he was wearing when John last saw him collapse into their bed this morning, minus his socks. The lines across his face John had attributed to exhaustion must have been caused by pain from the chip, because they are already fading in the afternoon light. His hair tie is stuck fast and pulling on it is only making him hiss in pain. 

“Here,” John says, gently pushing Adam's hand away, “let me, just relax.” 

He turns so his back is facing John and clasps his hands in his lap. One would almost think he is meditating if he didn't hiss and swear when John breaks the rubber band and pulls it free. Out of the tie it reaches down just past his shoulders, almost as long as Nine's. Gently he cards his fingers through his hair and begins working the knots apart. The goal is to rip out as little hair as possible and John quietly hides his failures on the floor to be picked up later. For his part Adam closes his eyes and seems to drift away. The smoother the grooming goes the more the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. After a while there is nothing to do but just play with the thick black locks. John begins braiding it to have something to do with his hands, and Adam begins to purr. It is not like a cat’s purr, low in the chest, but more like a jaguars attempt. It's a deep sound that John can feel in his neck and chest.

Another memory surfaces of Adam's first few days here. He had worked himself to collapse by the fourth day and barricaded himself in Malcolm's house. Vontezza and Rex, him and Nine, Sam and Six, Marina. They were the only ones Malcolm would allow in or out. Adam would meet with them but barely acknowledge them. Then in time he would speak but refuse to let anyone touch or come within two feet of him. The trust he had built with them had been shattered by something he still refuses to talk about. It's written in the scars under John's fingertips, hazy and implied but he can't quite make out the whole picture. If Adam would not tell him, maybe he didn't need to know. Even if he never wanted to John was not enough of a hypocrite to force him, never would be. 

Adam's head drops to his chest under John's hands. The purring stops as he sits back up and looks over his shoulder. His lidded, sleepy eyes and confused frown drew John in and made him want to kiss him, so he did. Adam follows his lips and presses forward until they're both lying on the cushions. Their lips meet lazily and without much purpose other than the closeness of it. John's hands smooth over Adam's back, pulling him closer. His fingers tangle in John's hair and angle his head so that he can trace over the line of his jaw with his lips. The crinkle of Adam's nose lets him know it's time to shave, but in this moment who really cares. 

One of his hands dips too low on his hips and pushes at his waistband and Adam stills. That's how John knows this current moment is over. Before Adam even has the chance to ask John pulls his hands away and tucks them behind his head out of sight. He is rewarded with his grateful smile as Adam pushes himself up on his elbows. His hair is coming out of its loose braid and falling down around them. 

John reaches up and runs his fingers through it. “Are you ever going to cut this?” 

Adam fumbles for a moment, almost knocking his face into John's chin. He waits and tolerates the squirming. Finally he settles on John's chest with his face propped on his folded arms. 

“I was thinking-” He squirms more to demonstrate with his hand, “-of shaving this part off, actually. I have a tattoo here.” 

John chokes. The area Adam is gesturing at is the right side of his head, but that is not all that startling. 

“When did you get a tattoo?”

He encircles that side of Adam's head in his hand as if he could feel the twisting lines through his hair. Obviously he feels nothing. For his part Adam looks amused, and also fond. He shifts back down and allows John to search with his fingers. Without thinking he begins to tap a drum beat into John's chest with his own fingers as he speaks. 

“There was a lice outbreak,” he snorts at the look on John's face, “relax. It happened the first year. Obviously none of us were really effected, since something in our blood kills most insects. It probably came in from the guard's barracks, although they would never admit to that.” 

John hums to let him know he is still listening. His searching and probing turns into petting. 

Adam continues, “They shaved most of our heads anyway. I figured that since I was already halfway there, I might as well finish the job. Someone had managed to smuggle his tools in, his name is Peresvet, you should speak to him someday, but anyway,” he waves his fingers noncommittally, “he gave me one. There is no rank for it, it's just a ceremonial word.” 

“What does it mean?” 

Adam smirks, “There is no direct translation, but ‘traitor’ is close. ‘One who stands apart,’ if you're feeling pretentious.”

A beat passes in silence before John rolls his head back and bursts into laughter. It shakes his chest and by extension, Adam. John's guffaw is infectious and soon they are both giggling with tears in their eyes. John scrubs at his face but they just keep coming. Eventually the cackling turns into giggles, that fade into snickers and knowing glances. He thumbs tears away from Adam's eyes. 

“So what _is_ Twitter?” 

That started the cycle all over again, and this time they didn't stop until one of them started wheezing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was Jay's original headcanon that John doesn't understand the internet and then the fandom adopted it basically overnight and I think that's very sexy as a concept. The fact that he can dismantle and rebuild a ps4 but can't run his own Instagram? Sexy As Hell, what a dumbass


End file.
